


Stopgap

by Silverlace_Vine



Series: Perspective [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Dom/sub, M/M, PWP, Slash, nobody calls Tony by his whole first name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-13
Updated: 2012-07-13
Packaged: 2017-11-09 21:17:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/458546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverlace_Vine/pseuds/Silverlace_Vine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce has to give up control in order to keep a lid on the Hulk during sex, and that's how he and Tony fall into a sort of informal D/s relationship.</p><p>Written for the Avengers kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stopgap

"Got a preference for a safeword, Bruce?"

They meet like this once every few days, once everyone's either out of the Tower or verifiably asleep. It would be soundproof regardless, but there was something about the privacy of it that Tony preferred. It made Bruce his, in a world of his own making. Asking if Bruce had a preference for a safeword was Tony's way of saying he was ready to take the reins; once he called it, that was the last vote he was getting for the rest of the night.

Bruce takes a breath, swallows once; the first part is always the hardest because that's when the doubt gets scarily high. Some nights he just answers "No," and it's his way of saying he doesn't feel safe risking it. But tonight, he thinks he's got the nerve, so he nods. "Ytterbium."

This makes Tony smile, and he pulls Bruce into a hug, and lets his fingers comb through his soft, graying hair; it helps to calm that initial nervousness. The first time they tried it, Bruce had been so nervous going in, he couldn't let go. It hadn't ended in an Incident, thankfully, but it had meant a lot of holding and reassurance and Tony had felt like _such an asshole_ for weeks.

And then Tony is roughly turning him around and forcing his hands behind his back, and Bruce finds the comforting weight of a short steel bar pushed against his palms.

"Show me you remember the rules, Bruce."

Bruce whimpers a little, and obediently kneels, fingers wrapping around the bar at either ends. It's their Hulk-friendly alternative to being put in handcuffs; if he lets go, the game's over.

"Good." Tony ties the silk scarf over Bruce's eyes like he's anointing him with it, and then bends down, letting his lips almost-not-quite brush against his pet's mouth.

It's just close enough to let him feel the warmth, taste the sazerac on his breath. Bruce doesn't need to see it to know Tony's making that face, the one that says he's being tested. He's not supposed to move: if he needs to be moved or change positions, Tony will move him. So he stays very still, even when he feels the hum of the Arc Reactor against his skin, and those lips gently brushing against the corners of his mouth, the tops of his ears, along his jawline.

He's starting to breathe harder when Tony's hands hook in his elbows and haul him to his feet; Tony presses up against his back, reaches to start unbuttoning his shirt from behind him. He can feel the roughness of Tony's callouses against his nipples through the fabric, and that warm breath is coming in soft, measured draws against his ear as Tony's hands thread through his chest hair on their way to un-knot his necktie.

"You're getting better at that," he murmurs.

"Thank you, Anthony." The privilege of using Tony's full first name is a gift, one he isn't allowed to use if he has free control of his hands. 

"You're welcome, Bruce."

And then he finds himself spun around again and just shoved, falling backwards onto the bed when his knees buckle against the edge. He lands with the bar under his thighs, his own weight robbing him of room to squirm unless he lets go.

Tony's hands roughly undo his belt, the familiar sound of leather and metal sliding over his slacks overridden by the sound of his fly being opened with Tony's other hand, the butterfly-light pressure of it serving as a cruel tease.

"Legs up."

Bruce does, lifting his knees and hips off the bed long enough for Tony to tug his slacks and shorts off, and then he's exposed, bare from the waist down, shirt open and pooling on his shoulders, blindfolded with his hands pinned underneath him, necktie undone and still looped under his collar. He's hard, too, the red-flushed weight of his own cock left untouched against his belly; Tony isn't moving, which means he's observing; it makes him feel like an unwrapped birthday present.

And then Tony is shoving his knees apart so he can lay between them; he's still fully dressed, the cottony fabric of his shirt brushing against Bruce's stomach as his mouth roves over his chest and throat, soft, open-mouthed kisses tempered with posessive bites, just enough pressure to make him tense and shiver and then moan with relief when Tony lets go.

He relaxes when Tony finally, _finally_ kisses him; it's a rough, hungry affair, one that leaves a redness on his lips and the taste of cognac lingering on his tongue; Tony's fist is clenched in Bruce's hair, forcing him to turn his head whichever way he wants until the muscles in his neck and shoulders relax to make it easier. Their hips grind together, Tony rocking against him in slow strokes, Bruce obediently holding himself still.

He could try to answer the hardness between Tony's legs, try to meet his rhythm and get that edge of friction his body wants-- but he's not supposed to move, he's not allowed to move; he repeats it in his head, don't move, you don't have to, let him-- trust him--

Tony lets his mouth free and he gasps for breath, not realizing he hadn't have room to get any air into his lungs. The hand in his hair lifts him up, and he finds himself practically weightless as he sits. The bar rests firmly in his hands, but it feels more like an anchor than a restraint now, and he lets it pin his knuckles to the comforter.

He hears Tony's track pants being tugged down to free his cock, feels Tony's palm slide gently under his chin, the pressure of his thumb against his cheek cuing him before the words come:

"Mouth open. No sucking." It's a very gentle command, but a command all the same, and right now it might as well be gospel. Bruce's lips open obediently, his tongue like a red carpet for Tony's cock as it slides in and meets no resistance.

The low groan of pleasure is everything Bruce could ask for, the weight of it echoing in his ears as Tony fucks his throat in slow, languid strokes. The grip loosens until the hand is cradling the back of his head, guiding him forward he can feel the soft curls of hair against his face and holds him there, until everything starts to blur and soften at the edges--

And then Tony withdraws, and Bruce feels his lungs fill again; a firm grip takes him by the shoulders, turns him over on his stomach; he feels the pressure like it's happening outside himself. The contact is there, the warmth is there, the feeling of being held is there, but it's weightless, only the metal in his hands and the sinking of the comforter around his knees tie him to the world under his feet.

Tony's voice is rough and sharp behind him, "Chest down, ass up, Bruce." And then both of those hands are on his back, pushing his shoulders down against the bed, and then sliding down the line of his back, down over his ass, to push his thighs apart.

It leaves him open and exposed, the pressure of something firm and wet lightly teasing his entrance barely noticeable over the pleasure of just being touched. It slides inside, giving his muscles an example to follow as they're gently coaxed open; it makes him feel greedy for wanting more, but he waits patiently, it'll come when his Anthony is ready. He feels knees settle outside his own, and he feels his body react almost without him at all; his spine dips, shoulders sinking down, trying to use the lines of his body to beg his Anthony to fuck him because he can't get the words into his mouth.

All at once that pressure reorients, Anthony's hips rocking forward, sliding his thick, aching cock inside; he's loose and open and so _ready_ , each stroke slick with saliva and pre-come. He can hear himself moaning, helpless little cries and whimpers of pleasure forced out of him with the snap of Anthony's thrusts.

He knows he's down in it, he knows he has to fuck him deep to reach the place where Bruce has gone to. But he knows how hard, how deep he has to go, until he folds over Bruce's back and whispers in his ear, reassuring him, telling him how good he is, how good he feels, how hot and tight--

When Anthony slides an arm around his shoulders, he whispers that last, honey-sweet command, "Come for me," and the world bursts into white as he does.

 

 

 

"--l right, come back. Everything's okay, you did great--"

He wakes up in Tony's bed; he's damp, and his muscles are sore; he can feel the textured grip of the steel bar imprinted on the skin of his palms, but not the object itself. He can catch the soft scent of Tony's soap and the cool dampness of his own, recently-bathed skin, and slowly the dark is dissolving.

Tony's arms are around him, gently rocking him. There's pillows bracing him on every side that Tony isn't, and when he can finally get enough grip on himself to move, he curls in a little. Coming down is always scarier, always more exhausting. Bruce smiles a little when he can pick out the Arc Reactor from all the other small, gently-glowing light sources around the room.

"Bruce? You with me?" Tony bends down to kiss his forehead. It's such a senstive, small gesture, it's almost more intimate than the sex.

"M'here."

"You were great." Tony praises him earnestly, honestly, holding him close and safe against his chest. "Tell me how you're doing, Bruce." This time it's not as much an order as it is Tony being worried. "You were pretty far gone there, for a little bit."

Bruce answers by sitting up, and his body feels so damn _heavy_ ; part of him wants to ask if this is what it feels like for Iron Man, breaking free of every pull but his own and then having to land again. The rest of him just wants to bury his face against the side of Tony's neck. But Tony's asking him for a scripted response, and he'll have to respond or he'll worry: "Yeah, I was. Did I miss the party?"

Tony laughs and squeezes him, because although he'd never admit it, he'd been starting to be afraid he'd finally crossed the line. Of all his misgivings, breaking Bruce and not being able to put him together is the one his worst nightmares are about. But he's heard the I'm-Okay code, and reaches over to the nightstand to conclude their night:

"Yeah, but you didn't miss the cake."

A cupcake, frosted in pastel stripes of pink and yellow and purple and green, and two forks. The first time Tony had brought one out after a particularly destructive session, Bruce had laughed himself into, and then out of, uncontrollable sobs. Now it was just part of the restoration, a stepping-stone back to reality and the waking world.

As stopgaps went, it worked.

**Author's Note:**

> I did this for the kink meme, but there's another prompt I'm working on that at least runs with this premise, though it isn't necessarily part of a continuity; so maybe a sequel coming soon? Possibly. We'll see where it goes.
> 
>  UPDATE: okay yeah I totally did one: http://archiveofourown.org/works/459169 
> 
>  
> 
> Full Prompt: I only recently watched The Incredible Hulk and consequently did not realize until now that Bruce being cockblocked by the Hulk was actually movie canon and not just convenient fanon, and it got me thinking. I would like to read something about how he and Tony figure out how to get around that; somewhat paradoxically, Bruce has to GIVE UP control in order to keep a lid on the Hulk during sex, and that's how he and Tony fall into a sort of informal D/s relationship. If Tony can get Bruce into something like subspace before they have sex, they're good to go. There can't be any painplay or spanking or anything like that, because pain unleashes the Hulk, but there is plenty of light bondage, blindfolds, commanding!Tony, and lots of manhandling (oh lord, do I love manhandling) and maybe very mild breathplay. I would love to read the slow process of them figuring this out over time, or just a scene of the two of them putting it into action. No silly outfits, no elaborate equipment, no 24/7 or roleplaying, just a surprisingly considerate dom!Tony and relieved sub!Bruce.
> 
> Bonus points for not including any of my BDSM dislikes: 1) pet names like "Good boy" and "Master", 2) spanking, or 3) humiliation.
> 
> Double bonus points for long descriptions of aftercare, especially if it's wonderfully in character.


End file.
